Signs of ageing sneak up and then attack

quite snazzy with a couple of chairs and pink cushions. If you sat in the swivel chair and spun around, you would see an avalanche-in-waiting of unspecified homewares, but for now, I had a good set up. Or so I thought. As a freshly-released-upon-theworld freelance writer, I’ve enjoyed the freedom of working from bed, from cafes and various libraries but my office has become increasingly necessary for peace and concentration.

I have had a pretty intense fortnight of transcribing and writing. I’ve hardly left my computer’s side.

By Wednesday I could barely move. I forgot those office perks you take for granted at a large company, like the person who tells you how to set up your work space so you don’t end up like I amnow.

I amthe shape of a C. I’ve led my back to believe it’s perfectly normal to be in the hunch position.

Backs are sneaky little feckers. It’s only when they hurt that you realise they control your entire body. They hurt when you laugh, they hurt when you make a cup of tea. They hurt when you type.

I’ve tried combating it by performing an array of stretches I believe come from the world of yoga. I’m combining painkillers and cobra moves.

I’m so stiff I can barely perform the daily cat transfer whereby I find PussPuss sleeping happily somewhere and gently place him on a chair beside me and hope he goes back to sleep. Sometimes I have been successful, other times he has simply stretched, walked across my keyboard and plonked his butt on my notepad.

Well, he’s still got his youth. I’d give anything to be so nimble I could sit on my notepad, lift one leg in the air and, well, cleanse a certain region with my tongue.

He’ll see. One day it won’t be so easy. At least he’ll never need a spray tan.